This week’s post is by Becca Wellan. A volunteer at Redeemer and full-time nanny (aka: superhero).

Be thankful.

I have a pretty good guess at what you’re thinking: It’s not Thanksgiving yet.

I am notorious (in my own head, anyway) for associating certain emotions and concepts with specific holidays. I can’t be the only one. The word Immanuel means “God with us.” The word Immanuel also makes me want to hang up Christmas lights. And I can make a good guess at what song is playing in your head right now (does this mean I’m psychic?).

I do this with the word “thankful.” Maybe you do too. I think of cozy sweaters, the smell of cinnamon, the laughter of friends and family as we eat ridiculous amounts of food, and the pumpkin cheesecake I make us each year that never turns out right. Ever.

Last night, I went for a walk with my dear friend and roommate, Kyla. Actually, she was longboarding and I was panting like a lost puppy trying to keep up with her.

“Hey Becca,” she called out, roughly two miles ahead of me. “Let’s do the thankfulness ABC’s.”

… but it’s not Thanksgiving, goofus.

I just laughed and went along with it. We were thankful for everything, from “Apples” to “Zaaa! For pizzaaaa.” Our conversation was a fun, silly exercise but it got us talking. How would our hearts change if we started to actively cultivate a daily awareness of the wonder and blessing from God in our lives?

When we aren’t thankful, our hearts may grow cold and we may not see just how truly, deeply, unbelievably blessed we are. A thankful heart opens your eyes to blessings in your life that, let’s be real, may go unnoticed as real-life tears at your skin and threatens to steal your joy.  
 

This year, I’ve cried my fair share of ocean tears. I’ve learned that on Christ the solid rock I stand, sit, lay down and cry. So have you, in one way or another. 2016 has been an incredibly trying year for many in my Redeemer family. We’ve been heartbroken, individually and collectively.

In the midst of deep hurt and sorrow, God pours out His love in abundance. What if we started to notice it and talk about it? The bible encourages a thankfulness that runs deeper than circumstance, rooted in the goodness of Jesus and everything that He has already done for us.

...giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light. He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. // Colossians 1:12-14

We can praise God, always, because He already rescued us from the domain of darkness. Even when we feel darkness surround us, it’s not our home anymore. Darkness isn’t our identity. We are redeemed, forgiven, and qualified to party in heaven one day, where He promises to remove all sorrow, pain, and death forever (Revelation 21:4). Until then, we have a God who promises to never leave us, no matter what battles we may face (Deuteronomy 31:6).

So what are you thankful for?

I am thankful for:

• A brand new awareness of my weakness and sin that has driven me deeper into the arms of Christ.
• A God who calls me His cherished, forgiven, deeply loved daughter, in spite of me.
• My friends who have extended their forgiveness, even though it was undeserved. Who sat with me and let me be broken. Who reminded me of the gospel when I couldn’t remind myself. Who gave me their wisdom, and food (I love food).
• My beloved church family at Redeemer. Even all the nerds in my Gospel Community. I love you all.

The list could run for miles. 

Let’s be a community who together recognize and talk about the power of Christ at work in the mundane, the suffering, and the joy that life brings.

So, what are you thankful for?

It is good to give thanks to the Lord, to sing praises to your name O Most High, to declare your steadfast love in the morning, and your faithfulness by night. // Psalm 92:1.

 

This week's blog was written by Theresa Adams, a wife and mother who loves to tap dance. 

The other night my little family of four trooped down to the beach in search of a sunset. And sunset we got. God did not disappoint. His handiwork was all over the sky and the water reflecting below. As we sat, okay my husband and I sat while our boys bouldered and climbed, gazing on His Glory there was a Heron not far away. It was so still it almost looked as though it had been placed there by a sculptor for our viewing pleasure. The sun was behind it just so that it was a still silhouette unmoving yet full of grace. As the sun continued to dip and the horizon played with yellows and pinks, still the Heron stood. It paid no attention to the voices calling out in loud delight (our kids) nor to the never ending bark of the delighted dog in the surf (not ours). It simply just was. Whether it was asleep, getting ready to eat, or also admiring the view, I'll never know. But, what I do know is that I could learn a thing of two from the Heron. I could learn how to "just be" amidst the countless distractions and chaos of the world around me. I could find out how to still be full of grace even as the circumstances around me shift and swirl.

 A verse that is often read on well-meaning magnets and wall hangings is Psalms 46:10 "Be still and know that I am God."  Synonyms of the word, still include motionless, stationary, immobile. "Rooted to the spot, as if turned to stone." That would lead us to believe that "being still" is a passive state requiring very little of us. I am pretty sure that those of us who've gone through any season requiring us to be still know that the act of being still is a very involved and engaging place to be. To intentionally choose to "just be" in the season you are in. To not look ahead to what is next and to not be fill up the present. There is nothing passive about guarding your time or safekeeping the now. Maybe it's just me, but I find being still a difficult place to be. In this fast-paced-busy-is-best-time we find ourselves living in it almost goes against our nature. It certainly goes against our culture.

This particular season of being still that I find myself in is new to me. Both of my boys, whom I've stayed home with since they were born, are now in school full-time. It's something I've long anticipated, but now that it's upon me I'm not quite sure how to navigate it. I am continually met with questions and comments such as "What are you going to do with all of your spare time? Are you going to be getting a job? Wow, that must be so nice!"  Yes, it is nice, okay some days is downright lovely,  but the thing is I don't have an answer to those other questions. And that is by design. But at times, when peppered by inquiring minds, I can forget the intentionality behind not knowing. And at times whether it's my insecurity or the fear of being looked down on for not having a plan or because I'm not able to satisfy other people's curiosity I can forget that my security isn't in what I do or don't do. I can get amnesia about where my identity lies. It's then when I'm misplacing my identity, which I start to justify my choices, or I elaborate on what I do with my time. Anyone?

The thing that I have to preach to myself time and time again is that my identity is rooted in what God has said who I am in Christ. It doesn't matter what anyone else says. Even well-meaning friends or dearly loved family doesn't get to decide who I am.  When you are in a season of being still whether you are there due to a self-induced prescription while learning the art of saying "no" or whether you are there because that is where God has placed you, and you don't know for what reason or for how long, it's almost as if you have to get used to the silence. 

You need time to grow accustomed to the pace or rather a lack of. To slow your thinking from constantly looking ahead and re-learn how to look at the now with fondness and thanksgiving. To remember that who you are has worth. No matter what you do. No matter how much you make. Regardless of where you live or what you study or how you score. No matter how full or free, your calendar is. Our identity and our security are not tethered to what we do or don't do.

 If I could imagine what that Heron had running through his or her mind as it stood there on the beach, I suppose it wasn't much. I don't suppose it was preoccupied with its identity as a Heron being linked to his movement.  I don't think it cared whether others thought it was insignificant because it wasn't busy being busy and I don't believe it was thinking ahead to the next season of life and how it couldn't wait to be done standing on that rock. I am fairly certain it wasn't even making a plan for how to get off of that rock. It simply just was where it was. Easier said than done, but let's not rush past it or dismiss it. 

Let's try, rather, to embrace the in-between. Look to being still as a gift of rest or quiet or refreshment. No matter why you end up there or no matter how long you find yourself there I hope that you, and me, can find enjoyment in simply being still.

This week's post was written by Theresa Adams who is constantly trying to convince herself that tea is just as good as coffee.

In the last few years we have had to sit down with our two boys, multiple times, to share with them that people near and dear were no longer going to be married. We've also experienced a lock-down at my son's elementary school. We've known people who have passed away and others who have battled life threatening illnesses. And this is just what our little family of four has encountered. The world at large is full of broken marriages, hurting people, dangers and uncertainty. As a mama who has two little ones, which means my heart lives outside of my body, there can be much to cause fear. Much to cause anxiety. Much that could overwhelm us.

It would be great if they made life-sized bubbles for our kiddos so that we could shield them from all of the brokenness and messiness they will encounter here on earth. But since that isn't an option what are we to do? How to shield them and let them experience it all so that when they go out into the world, as an adult. they will know how to comfort those in the brokenness rather than add to it? How to insulate them from all the negative? How to do so without your own fear being a burden upon their childhood? How to teach them that being courageous is sometimes more important than being safe? How to prepare them for life so they won't come running back to us and live in our basements? Unfortunately they will not encounter another way until they are rejoicing in heaven. Only then will their tears finally be wiped away. Then there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain. Until that time there are all of the above and more.

This whole living in fear thing is new to me. Growing up and in my young adult life I was mildly void of fear. Spontaneity beckoned me and I typically answered without much thought or concern of what could or couldn't happen. I hitchhiked and went on solo trips across country all without a cellphone (least you think that was on account of bravery let me just be honest and say it was because they hadn't been invented yet.) I threw myself off of cliffs into the water below just for the thrill of it. Now, since becoming a mother, I get nervous and clammy driving over high bridges or when my kids get too close to the edge of a ledge overlooking the water below. Even though said ledge towers above them and there is literally no foreseeable way they could fall in. Still clammy. Still sometimes hold onto the hood of my youngest least a sea creature from down below were to leap up and decide he'd make a tasty treat. Okay, maybe not that last one so much but you can see how easily it is to be dwarfed by the umbrella of "what-if's." And these are just for the run-of-the-mill fears. Not the life threatening "what-ifs" about contracting a life-threatening disease or coming into a life-threatening situation simply when going throughout your day It, again, really does make the kid-in-a-bubble thing sound not so bad.

It's all too much. There is too much to fear and there is too much that could go wrong. But if we let fear win then we are going to miss out on too much joy. Too much love. Too much spontaneity and too much good. Life is hard enough as it is that we don't need to be saddled down by any additional weight of worry or anxiety or distress. What is a mama to do other than to spend time on her knees and trust the One who gave her those that cause her heart to live outside of her body. What can we do but believe and trust Him when he says:

"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

We can also remember we have a choice to live each day one day at a time. Not looking too far ahead but rather just soaking up the moment and the gift that it is. Maybe it's just me, but I don't want fear to get an inch more than it deserves. It has it's place and it is a good emotion to have when, say, you run into a grizzly bear. But day in and day out I want my emotions to know that I'm in charge and I want to model that for my children.

Fear often is nothing more than an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous. In most cases it isn't even an actuality it's just a possibility. These ones we are raising up are going to need all the braveness they can muster.  They who take their cues from us. They look to us before they have a reaction. They cry harder if we gasp when they fall. They look more triumphant after seeing our smile. They need to know that we think they've got this. They also need to know that we've got this and that in the times when we don't that we  have someone to turn to who will never falter. Never leave. Never change. They need to know that we will keep trusting in the One who holds us all in the palm of His hands. They need to know that we will keep crying out on our knees for the courage and peace and love only He can provide to keep the fear it it's place.

"Steps unseen before me,

Hidden dangers near;

Nearer still my Savior,

Whispering, "Be of cheer"

Joys, like birds of springtime,

To my heart have flown,

Singing all so sweetly,

                                                                               "He will not leave me alone"

 

This week’s post is by Brandon Adent, a deacon at Redeemer Church. He likes music, words, and words about music.

Easter morning I showed up for rehearsal feeling less than stellar, and left feeling even less so.

Exhausted, I lay on the couch, and hardly got up for a week.

I don’t get sick easily; it’d been probably seven years since I’d had the flu, and probably three since I’d had to take multiple days off from work. Maybe both of those numbers are normal, maybe they’re high, maybe they’re low. No matter, when Tuesday showed up, they both reset to zero, and the timing felt absolutely the worst.

Really, anytime is the worst, but this was bad. There wasn’t really anything of utmost importance I would miss, nothing that couldn’t be rescheduled, anyway.

But after several months of stalemate, I was at long last beginning to see progress in a couple of different areas, finally starting to feel productive, to see progress, to get back into a rhythm. I was exhausted from spinning my wheels in the sand, but at least I was moving again.

Yeah, no more. For the next week, I did nothing but toss and turn, whimper and puke. In all honestly, I didn’t probably have it that bad. But it felt bad. I felt bad.

And as I sat there wanting nothing but the Second Coming of Christ, I couldn’t help but ask God what I had done to deserve this.

Lay Down, Little Sheepy

Some time ago, someone pointed out to me the particular phrasing of the first couple verses of the well known Psalm 23:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

He leads me beside still waters.

He restores my soul

He makes me lie down.

At least for my soul, that sounds a lot like this:

Okay, little sheepy, this is a good spot. Take a minute and lay down. No… stop here, don’t keep going. Stop. Okay, c’mon bud, get down. No, all the way… all the way; no, I said DOWN, not up.

LITTLE BUDDY: LAY. DOWN.

DOWN. NOW.

*sickness or injury ensue*

At first glance, this sort of thing seems a bit vindictive or something, but it's actually the opposite.

While Psalm 23 may or may not be a direct reference to the biblical concept of Sabbath rest, I can’t help but see the parallels.

Needing Rest

We need rest; it’s hardwired into creation; even before the Fall, there was rest. In fact, God Himself rested and set that day apart (Gen 2.1-3), not because He needed it, but because He knew we needed it.

Our bodies need to physically recover from the things that we do, but rest is more than sleep or lying around. It’s also allowing oneself the time to just “be”, to reflect on God’s greatness and be astounded that He somehow is mindful of us (Psalm 8).

Rest reminds us who we are, that we can’t do it all. It gives us a chance to unwind and charge up for the week or the day or the hour ahead, mindful of God’s power and our weakness apart from Him.

As Christians, we can take a break from our labor in the full knowledge that Jesus has worked tirelessly and rested perfectly, died and risen so that we can rest in His record and not our own.

Hating Rest

Regardless of any benefit, we don’t like rest. At least I don’t. When I go hiking, I am all about how much ground we cover, how many miles we need to make in a day, how far to the next camp. Don’t stop for water or take pictures in the middle of a hill, keep up the momentum. Actually, my tendency is to speed up while ascending.

I’ll rest when I’m dead, thank you very much. Right now, I’ve got somewhere to be.

I mean, I like the idea of taking a second to look around. But it takes much more effort than it should to just pick my head up for a quick breather; I really like the idea that I don’t need it.

That somehow God made me wrong, that I know what I’m capable of more than He does. I’d rather spend the night nauseous than admit I can’t do it, and it’s happened often enough.

Just Lay Down

There’s a lot of different ways to rest, or "sabbath", and the best way to rest varies so much from person-to-person.

The Sabbath was a day of rest, built into the week. God Himself “sabbathed” after He populated the earth, and written into the Ten Commandments was a weekly “rest day”, which was to be spent differently than the other days of the week, to spend time with God and His people, do good and rest from the labors of the week. Keeping the Sabbath was a big deal, and with the Jewish people today, it still is.

There’s a million ways to take a Sabbath. Take a nap, take a walk, hang out with friends, take your family to the park, play an instrument, work on a project, read a book (or three...), write a letter to your grandmother, and so on and so forth. Just take time to reflect on what God has done for you in Christ and enjoy all the good gifts He’s given you. Take some time to just “be”.

Maybe it’s just me. But I’ve found that when I am not obedient in regular rest, I get made to lay down.

Thankfully, whether we’re smart enough to see it or not, wherever we’re laid down is green pasture where, whether we want Him to or not, He restores our soul.

Current blog post written by Becca Wellan. A devoted and caring friend who loves coffee and talking about Jesus. Oh, and did I mention she loves coffee?

"Twinkle twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are."

I sing this lullaby to lull the sweet babies I nanny to sleep. I can’t sing, so this doesn’t always work. Each time I sing this song, I always think, these words are so odd. I’m no astronomer, by any stretch, but I’m pretty sure stars aren’t diamonds in the sky. I’m also quite positive they’re not little.

Have you ever laid on your back during a clear summer night in the middle of nowhere? Just to watch the stars. Just to see how small you really are. It’s amazing. You know, I tried counting all the stars, once. I believe I got to twenty-nine, then I got distracted.

1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.

One billion trillion; I was a little off. That’s the number of stars in the observable universe. That’s one billion trillion stars, in the ten billion galaxies we’ve found so far (like I can somehow take credit for this).

That’s a lot of stars.

I don’t know about you, but my view of God is very small. I mean, I know that God created the world, the universe, the one billion trillion stars, me. I know the stars are designed to show us His power and beauty. (I also believe He made them just for fun. Just to paint the sky for us. Just because He’s God, and He can). I know all these truths, but as my heart’s been breaking beneath the weight of my sin, I’ve learned that there’s a difference between “know” and “believe.” The difference between chains and freedom.

And I don’t believe that this God could truly love me. In my doubt, I’ve been drowning.

Does this God actually have a heart big enough to love all of me?
Enough power to truly forgive me?
Enough grace to rescue me?
Enough understanding to heal me?
Enough mercy to let my heart rest, filled up to overflowing with peace?

I don’t know about you, but my view of God is very small. There are days my sin takes a hold of my heart and my mind and yells so loud, with such strength, that this God who counts the countless stars seems to disappear.

Do you ever wonder if God could truly love someone like you? If being fully, totally forgiven for everything you’ve ever done or thought applies to everyone else, but certainly not you?

I don’t actually believe that God would love me enough to pour grace over the dark spaces in my mind. I don’t actually believe that I can rest in His forgiveness, without doing penance to earn His grace. I don’t actually believe Him when He said “it is finished.”

But this God, who created the universe and all its stars, will not remain silent. This morning, He broke through my doubts and spoke to me:

“He heals the brokenhearted,

And binds up their wounds.

He determines the number of the stars;

He gives to all of them their names.” // Psalm 147:4.
 

Suddenly, I believed Him. If this God has enough power in His voice to tell the one billion trillion stars to shine, hanging them up like Christmas lights, then He must have enough power to heal my broken heart and bind up my wounds.

If this God is caring enough to name each and every one of the stars, then He must care enough to truly, completely, deeply, relentlessly love me.

To call me by name.

And, this God must have enough power to actually mean it when He hung on the cross and said “it is finished.”

“As far as the east is from the west,
so far does He remove our sin from us.” // Psalm 103:12.

As far as the east is from the west is pretty far, if you think about it. The edge of the observable universe is forty-six billion light years away. One light year is six trillion miles. It keeps going, and going, and going and no one knows where, or if, it ends.

When Christ died on the cross, the sin that separated us from Him is black-hole status gone. He has only grace for us, now. He is not disgusted by you. He is not ashamed of you. To endure your days as though Jesus is not powerful enough to forgive you is not just insulting, it will wreck you.

This morning, as I read these verses through my tears, I finally felt how absolutely adored I am. I could actually see myself wrapped in the arms of Jesus. Sobbing. Letting go of everything but Him. In that moment, I finally felt that I am more valuable to Him than one billion trillion stars. The weight of the guilt I’ve been carrying was lifted. All I could say was “I need you.”

“I know, sweet girl, I know,” He said. “That’s why I came down to rescue you.”  

“When Satan tempts me to despair and tells me of the guilt within, upward I look and see Him there, who made an end of all my sin.”

-This weeks post is by Ashley Bowie, a member at Redeemer. She pours an excellent cup of coffee, and loves words the way some people love their pets, or children.

Every March my family celebrates a special holiday. On March 19, 1988, my parents adopted three children from the bad side of life. I was only four; I had a sister who was five and had taught me how to tie my shoes, and how to talk to people and a happy rowdy brother who had just turned two. We were a mess for sure. We had been through a lot in our collective short years and had all the fears and bad habits that came with it. But on that special day, we walked into a new home. We had new beds that were just for us, a big back yard with a wooden swing set, clothes, toys, and family, oh boy was there family. On our first night, there was a huge party. It sort of happened by accident. Everyone knew we were coming home, and they all wanted to stop by and say hello to the kids my parents had chosen. We met neighbors and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. Everyone who had prayed and cried with my parents as they went through the soul trying process of adoption was there to celebrate. I still remember meeting our next door neighbors who had a girl my age, and proudly showing her my bed, a top bunk if you can believe it, and the first stuffed animal that was ever mine. 

After all the cake had been eaten, and the presents had been put away, I was staring up into the passionate blue eyes of my new Mom and the gentle hazel of my new Dad. They kissed me and said, "Welcome home, I love you." I don't have many memories before that day; maybe I was too young, or maybe God was protecting me, but I remember every moment of that day. To this day, we all remember and cherish March 19th. It's the day the orphans came home, the day the emptiness was made full, the day we became a family. We call it Gotcha Day because as my Mom and Dad always said, "that's the day we got-cha."

God adopted you. You were born into hardship and subjected to the neglect and abuse of this world; you carry the fears and bad habits that come with it. And then one day, God brought you home. He gave you a safe place, He cares for your needs and gives you family, so much family. Do you remember the day that God "Got-cha?" 

Easter is just around the corner. This is the time of year we remember with sober minds that God sent His only son, to die on our behalf, to bridge the gap between creator and created. This is also the day that God "got-cha." On that day, He paid the price and decided that you belonged to Him, that you would come home, and you would be His child. 

Romans 8:14-17 "For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the spirit of adoption as sons by whom we cry, "Abba! Father!" The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs - heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ..."

Maybe you think the day that God gotcha was a day that you finally gave up or a day your eyes finally opened. Maybe you were at the end of your rope or at the bottom of the pit. Maybe that's when you saw it, when you finally realized that God has adopted you. But He has wanted you from the beginning and has been calling you home to Himself since the day you were born.

Romans 8:29 "For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, in order that He might be the firstborn among many brothers."

When I was adopted, I was rescued. I was rescued from neglect, and abuse and fear. But I was also brought home. I was given care instead of neglect, compassion instead of abuse, and love instead of fear. It took a while for my little heart to understand that. I didn't realize that I would be fed, so I hid food. I didn't know that mistakes would be met with kindness, so I lied. I think sometimes we focus so much on what God has saved us from, that we forget to recognize what he has saved us to. You were pulled out of the filth of the world so that He could embrace you as His child. You have no need to hide, or cover up. You are home. You are safe. 

No one was going to send me back, this wasn't an accident, there were no regrets and no "plan B" incase this didn't pan out the way they had hoped. If you know anything about post infant adoption, you know that children who have been through a lot, take a lot of love and a lot of work. Attachment disorders, identity disorders, stunted emotional growth, and pathologically deceitful tendencies, these words were in the file of myself, my brother and sister. Imagine what would be in your file right now. Imagine the labels the world would put on you and try to convince you that you don't deserve the love of a Good Father, or that it would be too much work to make you whole again. 

Romans 8:38-39 "For I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Now imagine the impromptu party that happened on your gotcha day. The angels that stopped by to see the child that God had chosen, the family and friends that had prayed for you and were so proud and thrilled that you are now a member of the family. And when the lights go out, and everyone goes home, there He is, your good and great heavenly father looking at you with bright and unending love saying "Welcome home, I love you.”